


Land of the Free and Home of the Gay

by DaisyIfYouHave



Series: Overgays universe [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyIfYouHave/pseuds/DaisyIfYouHave
Summary: Fareeha and Angela's first meeting. Before the recall of Overwatch.





	Land of the Free and Home of the Gay

The day was bright, and her lecture had gone well, and those were the only two things Mercy could ask for. She did, still, think of herself as Mercy, even though Overwatch no longer existed, even though the nameplate on her office door said Dr. Angela Ziegler, and even though she now lived in a quiet studio apartment in Cambridge instead of jetting around the world.

It had been a major honor, to be asked to teach at Harvard, though no one had acted surprised when she had mentioned it. From her earliest memories, she had loved the sciences. She pored over books with her father, chemistry and physics and poetry and history.

Medicine had come later, when she swore she would do what doctors then could not.

After Overwatch had disbanded, there hadn’t been much else place to go, and so Mercy had found a small pool of private happiness here, in the bright faces of her medical students. It gave her a sense of purpose. But she missed it, sometimes—the people more than the work, there was good and there was right in what they did, but the family it created was the strongest draw.

But she was not contemplating this, mostly contemplating the takeout she would bring home for her Friday night, when she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

There was no mistaking Tracer for anyone else, even allowing for the blue glow of the chronal accelerator on her chest. Her particular bouncy walk carried her across the patio, smiling at nothing at all, her cowlicks soaring like sails, as she set her lunch down at a table. Mercy was halfway across the street before she realized she was moving at all, pulled toward Tracer, a bright smile on her own face.

“Lena!”

Tracer looked up, and then, in a single motion, jumped the small fence of the patio and landed a few feet in front of Mercy, wrapping her arms around her.

“Ang! God, it feels like it’s been so long.”

Mercy looked down at her, hands still on her shoulders. “What are you even doing here? I thought you were back in London.” She sighed happily. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“Aw, yeah,” she waved her hand, “Win’s over at MIT, now—“

“I had no idea he was so close.” She felt a bit embarrassed for the oversight. “Teaching?”

“Naw, you know how shy 'e is. Research, mostly.” She gestured toward the table. “Come sit with us, I’ll share me chips, even.” She opened the gate to let Mercy inside. “That’s what I’m 'ere for, really, is to get 'is all clear. Or rather,” she sat down and looked over at Mercy, half-annoyed by what she was about to say, “to get the bloody RAF to accept 'is all clear, I can’t be stuffed for an all clear.”

She sat delicately beside Tracer on the bench. “You’re not instructing?”

“Oh, I’m instructing, all right, Red Air can’t 'ardly turn me down, really, but it’s all theoretical, they won’t let me in the air, not without Win solemnly swearing that I won’t disappear mid-flight.” She winked. “Luckily the Americans are completely bonkers, so I did a gig at Top Gun for a time, but,” she shrugged, “if it takes me 8 hours to fly to Win either way, I’d rather be home. You miss Switzerland?”

She folded her hands in lap and shook her head. “Switzerland was a place I lived, but it was never like London was for you.”

Lena looked over at the door. “Oi!” She waved, and then looked back at Angela. “This is the other reason I’m here, brought one of the 'elix kids to Winston’s lab.”

Mercy looked up at the door, and her lip unconsciously slipped under her front tooth. She was tall and broad-shouldered, her jet black hair glittering under the filtered light of the day, her features strong and proud,  a tattoo marking her cheekbone. She walked as if she expected the room to salute, and set her tray down at the table.

“Fareeha, this is Angela Ziegler. Ang, this is Fareeha Amari. Looked me up on account of me work with the Slipstream. We’ve been working together on an 'elix project or two.”

Mercy extended her hand, mouth open slightly. “I imagine it is pronounced closer to, Fareeha.” It poured off her tongue delicately as her outstretched hand was met.

Tracer rolled her eyes and picked up a French fry.

Her eyebrow arched in appreciation, and Mercy longed to rest in the dark shadows of her eyes. “You speak Arabic?”

“Oh no,” Mercy gave a girlish giggle, and Tracer’s face turned to a boyish grin as she watched Mercy’s face, “But it is fascinating, and so beautiful, some of the greatest poets of history wrote in Arabic, ‘ _when I sink my eye into your eyes, I catch a glimpse of a deep dawn, and I see ancient yesterday_ ,” She suddenly realized she was still holding Pharah’s hand, and let go, stopping herself.

Tracer smiled smugly and tucker hands underneath her chin. “She says this sort of thing to me all the time.”

Mercy blushed, realizing she’d been caught out by Tracer, but Pharah merely nodded appreciatively. “I think you could learn. You say my name well.”

“Oh, she’ll say your name, all right.” Tracer took a bite of her fry, and Mercy stomped hard on her instep. “AH!”

Pharah sat down across from them. “The campus is very beautiful, Dr. Zeigler.”

“Oh please, call me Angela.” She shot Tracer a look as soon as she said it.

“I didn’t say nothing.” Tracer picked up her hamburger and stared over at a group of pigeons.

“Angela.” Mercy smiled as she said it, the delight of hearing her name on her tongue.

She leaned forward, adjusting her hair and smiling. “I know you have so much to do here, but, there’s an exhibit on Middle Eastern art, over in Boston. I have always meant to see it, you know, but I know regrettably little about the culture.”

Tracer looked back over her shoulder, trying to stop her grin. “Well, Win and I are full up, Ang, you’ll have  to go on without us. There’s a nice little café by there too, I heard.”

She looked back at Pharah, who smiled, “Yes. I think you should go. There is so much to learn, and many things I think we have to be uniquely proud of. I think you will like it.”

Tracer groaned heavily, and slumped forward onto the table. “Fareeehhaaaaaa.”

“Of course.” Mercy nodded, and stood. “It was very nice meeting you. Lena, I’ve missed you. Come see me before you leave for London?” She rested her hand on Tracer’s shoulder, who was still laid on the table, but raised her hand in an okay.

Mercy trotted off quickly, and Tracer looked up at Pharah, shaking her head. “If you’re the brightest mind Egypt has to offer, it’s in quite a spot.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ang!”

“What?”

“The museum!” Tracer banged her hand on the table.

Pharah looked confused. “I think she will enjoy it.”

“She wanted _you_ to take 'er, you bleeding barmcake.” She shook her head. “The children are our future, my arse.”

Pharah gave a twitch of shock. “That’s not what she said.”

“Not everyone gives military orders when they want something, you know.”

Pharah looked off. This was not something she had accounted for, when she had decided to go to the US with Tracer. It was supposed to be a research trip. Research trips didn’t usually involve dates with beautiful geniuses. There was no reason to believe she was Dr. Ziegler’s type. But Tracer knew her well, and Tracer, whatever her other faults might be, was not inclined to lie.

She looked up at Tracer with a slight look of panic.“I’m not always good at making friends.” 

As if reading her mind, Tracer placed her hand on Pharah’s forearm. “Yeah, friends, listen, you’re gonna need flowers and better clothes.”                     


End file.
